Afternoon Tea
by Fairy Pixie Stardust
Summary: *One-Shot* Nine years after graduation, Wendy pays an unexpected visit to Stan. Happenings thereupon. *One-sided Stan/Wendy, undertones of Stan/Kyle*


-

**Afternoon Tea**

-

"Your kid's quite adorable, Stan," said Wendy. She examined the pretty little girl, whose fair auburn hair had begun to pull out of her colorful hair pins.

"Thanks." Stan smoothed his daughter's crumpled shirt.

He truly hadn't expected this.

Yet Wendy had come anyway, showing up at the door on an otherwise typical Friday and asking how he was, after all those years...

Stan studied his own ceiling. Stark white and smooth.

Wendy set her tea cup down daintily. "So, what's her name?" She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little bit from her sincerity.

"Daddy," interrupted the little girl in a shrill voice. "Why is she here? Is she asking who mommy is?"

Stan looked a bit uncomfortable. _He's exactly the same_, thought Wendy. At that moment, you or I could have thought that she was wistful. But Wendy knew better...

"Yes," He told her daughter, ignoring the first question. _Probably because he doesn't know it himself_. "Would you like to tell her?"

"Yeah!" screamed the girl, her eyes bright with excitement. She jumped to Wendy's side. "Her name is Brendy! Brendy Marsh!"

"Brendy Band is her maiden name," Stan added, looking a bit pained.

"Oh," Wendy said, realizing that she was itching to ask her boyfriend of long-ago a few questions. As if he had read her mind, Stan gently told his daughter to help her mother bake the cookies she was specially preparing for her husband's childhood friend. The little girl obeyed without complaint, shiny hair trailing behind her into the kitchen and leaving behind a faint scent of Stan's cologne.

"Nice cologne," Wendy said jokingly.

Stan crinkled his nose. "You noticed? She's been infatuated with it lately. She sprays it on when I'm not looking and grins madly when I catch her!"

Wendy smiled. Ah, the simplicities of childhood.

"So," said Stan, sounding very much uncomfortable. "Where'd you go?"

"Oh, I went many places. Here, there, you know..."

"Okay, then. Where'd you go after we graduated?"

"I went to California."

Stan looked up into her eyes. Wendy saw that his eyes were still the same shade of blue, that electric blue that had made her knees go weak just eleven years ago. _But not anymore_. "Why?"

"UCLA," replied Wendy. Stan stared at her and patiently waited for more. "I wanted higher education..."

"Oh, okay." Then: "Why didn't you tell me? We could have stayed in touch."

"I just wanted to get away from South Park, that's all." Fearing Stan would be hurt, she added, "It wasn't _you, _Stan. It was just that... you were from South Park." Wendy Testaburger _totally _felt like a failure at that moment.

"I understand." Stan nodded.

"You do?"

"I've felt like that sometimes, too."

"Oh," said Wendy rather stupidly. She noticed that the walls were neon orange with tiny impeccable citrus fruits scattered all over them. A large, obnoxious signature on the bottom right of one wall stated that it was done by Brendy Marsh on the eighteenth of December, 2010. _Quite the artist, isn't she_? She thought bitterly.

"So, uh... where'd you go after _that_?"

"I went to New York, to, um, you know, have more opportunities," she said lamely. However, his face showed unmasked admiration, and pride embedded itself in her mind. She was ready to bet that the other citizens of this small redneck town had never even thought about it. _With the exception of another_, she remembered, without remembering _who _it was. Which is, of course, the importat part. As everyone knows. She fidgeted a little in her seat. "How... is everyone else?"

Wendy could tell Stan was surprised, because she'd always been able to read him like a book. Maybe he thought her too stuck-up to ask about others. "Well," he said, "I hardly know where to begin."

Wendy immediately thought of her blond former classmate, the one who'd always been shy and had asked her out once, only once, in ninth grade. "Start with Butters."

"Butters... Well, he's a teacher. An elementary school teacher." Stan shifted in his seat. "He took over Mr. Garrison's position when he... um, retired."

Wendy could see the scene in her mind. Grown-up Butters, who was undoubtedly still child-like, standing in front of a crowd of children which, strangely, looked much like her own fourth-grade class. "How nice," she said. In a very sincere voice, too. Even though she'd spurned him.

"Yeah," Stan agreed. "He's a natural."

"As I thought."

At this point, Stan's daughter came tumbling into the living room again. "Ms. Teth-taburger!" she yelled, looking proud.

"And how do _you _know my name?" Wendy laughed, poking her gently in the chest.

"Daddy told me before!" _Daddy._ She turned to him. "The cookies are ready!"

Wendy could smell them. _She's good at baking. _She thought of that time when her attempt to try to bake a cake for a good friend had turned out in miserable failure. Since then, Wendy hadn't baked even a single time. "Time for me to meet your wife properly," she said. They'd only exchanged hellos.

Her own had been terse, she remembered, while the other's had been open and cheerful.

"I guess so."

Stan's wife welcomed the three of them with open arms into the kitchenette. The girl, who had been hanging onto Stan's leg, promptly jumped to melt into her mother's arms. They laughed bubbly laughs.

Wendy was thinking about all this, and whether any of it was real, when a high voice invaded her mind. "What did you say your name was again?" asked Brendy, extending her hand.

Wendy shook it lightly. "Wendy Testaburger." She examined the woman standing in front of her. Flaming red hair, she noted. Bright green eyes. A slender shape. All in all, very attractive. And reminiscent of someone, someone she couldn't quite place her finger on.

"Nice name."

"Thanks."

"Cookie?" Brendy held up a warm cookie that still emanated a heavenly aroma.

"Don't mind if I do." Wendy took it and watched as the other woman offered her husband another one that was just as perfect. She bit into hers. _As heavenly as it smells_, Wendy thought. The chocolate chips had melted completely inside the set dough, and were now resting on her fingertips. She licked the gooey mess off.

As if on cue, Brendy Marsh picked her child up and held her close. "I'll leave you two alone now," she said. "I imagine you've got a lot to talk about."

_She really trusts Stan_, mused Wendy, shaking her head slightly. _She shouldn't_.

Stan cleared his throat. "Who else?" he prompted.

"What happened to Bebe?"

"Oh!" said Stan. "I thought you'd keep in touch with Bebe..."

Wendy shook her head. "I cut off all ties."

Stan nodded. "Well, Bebe and me aren't really close, but I know she's married to Craig."

"_Craig Tucker_?" Wendy asked, bewildered.

"Yeah. I was shocked, too. They were never friends while you were still here." He sipped his tea.

"I'll go see her later," Wendy told him. "What's her address?"

"I don't know. Sorry."

"That's okay- I'll find out." A pleasant tinkling noise sparsely filled the air as Wendy aimlessly stirred her tea with the silver spoon. "So... what about Eric Cartman?"

Stan laughed suddenly. "Cartman?" he said. "Well, he got what he deserved!"

"What'd he get?" Wendy could practically _feel_ her spirits soaring, laughing along with her long-time friend.

Stan paused, as if building up the tension for a dramatic yet comedic moment. Then: "Work in a tiny cubicle, day and night!"

As expected, the room shook with laughter. "Oh," said Wendy, wiping a tear from her eye. "Thanks, Stan. I really needed that."

"No problem." He patted her on the back.

They were getting good at this game, getting better and better. When Wendy was calmed down enough to breath, she asked again. "What about Kenny? You know, the one who always had the orange hood." She drew an imaginary circle around her head.

Stan sobered down immediately. "Kenny," he repeated. "Kenny." He went back to looking uncomfortable. "He... uh, he works at a gas station."

"Oh." She could feel his obvious distress. "Are you all right?"

"Uh, yeah." Stan was staring up at the ceiling again.

Wendy tried to picture the Kenny she knew at a gas station. Kenny wearing a uniform, pretending to be nice to customers.

Kenny had too much _life _for that.

"What's the matter?" Wendy asked soothingly as Stan stared, placing a hand on his arm in a comforting manner.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I haven't talked to him for a while," he admitted.

Wendy looked at him, waiting for more.

"But I'm going to visit him tomorrow," Stan said hastily.

"Good." She rubbed his arm for a moment, then pulled away.

-- Was it just her, or did Stan look regretful at the loss of her touch? "What's up with _you_?" Wendy asked kindly.

"Me?" Stan looked doubtful. "Oh, you know, the usual... I mean,-- oh!" he said in frustration. A minute later: "I work as an artist."

"An artist?" repeated Wendy. "Since when have you been interested in the arts?"

"I started only a few months after you left. I thought you were gone for good, leaving us with no warning whatsoever. All that I could find out from your parents was the fact that you'd gone to a better college," said Stan bitterly.

Wendy let herself ignore his tone. "Is Brendy an artist?" She let her gaze sweep over the bright lemons and cheery grapefruits on the wall. Bright and cheery they may be-- but alive? No.

"Yeah. That's how I met her," Stan said, once again that pained expression that she'd seen earlier on his face. "Art classes at Boulder. We just-- I saw her, and we immediately clicked."

"Can I see one of your works?"

Stan seemed to hesitate. "... Yeah, sure-- be right back." He disappeared as he rounded a corner of the wall. Wendy heard faint thumps as Stan descended the staircase to, presumably, the basement.

His daughter bounced into the living room when her father was gone with a puppy, one that looked to be Sparky Jr. She took no notice of Wendy sipping her warm green tea on the soft couch, and proceeded to play with it. Wendy took this as an opportunity to properly study the girl.

She was wearing a bright orange cotton dress with green lining. Her slightly curly auburn hair accentuated the neon green and blue barrettes pinning strands into place. _Her mother must have done them again, _she thought, remembering the pulled-out hair she'd seen when she first saw the girl. Blue-green eyes completed her appearance.

Soft thumps interrupted her line of thought. Stan rounded the corner and walked toward her with quite a few canvases in hand. He pushed one toward Wendy, and she took it. Her eyes widened involuntarily.

Paint was lovingly splashed on the surface of the rough material-- it was a portrait of Brendy Marsh.

You may be wondering why she gasped.

It was because the painting was so beautiful, because it was so _alive_. "I never knew you had this kind of talent, Stan," Wendy said.

"I don't have much," he mumbled, "Really..."

"Yes, you do-- you really do!" insisted Wendy. "Show me more?"

Wordlessly, Stan handed her another one. This one looked like a landscape. Trees cast soft shadows on the carpet-like green grass where exquisitely colored mushrooms were budding. She tried to imagine what his hands must have looked like, painting this. And she knew. They must have looked like _magic_. "One more?" she asked, holding out her hands.

Stan looked at the next painting and squirmed a bit before handing it to her. _This one is the most magical of them yet_, Wendy thought, examining the unique paint strokes and flawless attention to details. It was a male version of Brendy--

Then the face clicked in her mind. "Kyle Broflovski," she said, mentally slapping herself in the face for not recognizing him. She turned to look at Stan. He cringed ever so slightly at her gaze. "I had a brain freeze," said Wendy.

Stan didn't respond.

"Have you heard from him lately?" she asked.

He sighed. "Not really."

Shocked, Wendy stared at him. "No word?"

"We exchange e-mails every few weeks, but..."

"But you used to be the best of friends," Wendy completed.

"Exactly," Stan told her. "Ever since he left for New York City, we've been getting further and further." _So he's the other one who moved on_, thought Wendy. _My equal_.

"You seem to remember his face very well," Wendy said. The face in the painting stared at her, an exact replica, a ghost of the face she'd known until nine years ago, when they'd all graduated from high school. "When did you paint this?"

"Last month."

Wendy stared at him in amazement. "You remember his face perfectly," she said.

"Despite the fact that I haven't seen him in _six years_," he said, a bitter note faintly resounding within his voice. "Yeah, I know, Wendy."

Wendy studied him. "Do you know where he works?"

"Yeah," he replied, faintly surprised at her question. "He's a professor at Columbia University."

"Wow! A professor, at his young age of twenty-seven? At Ivy League, no less?" she marveled. "When I get back to New York, I'll visit him for you, Stan..." Wendy looked at him for approval.

"Really?" asked Stan. "You'd... do that for me?" When Wendy nodded, he shook his head up and down vigorously. "Please.. do," he said.

"I will-- and I'll bet you're proud of him," she teased.

"Of course I am!"

Wendy laughed, then checked the time on her silver wristwatch. "I better get going," she told her friend. "It's already five P. M., and I agreed to meet someone for dinner. I better get ready." Standing up, she smoothed her skirt.

"Bye," Stan said weakly, accompanying her to the door. "Brendy!" he called. Stan's wife came immediately, still holding her daughter. Streaks of color decorated the child's face. _It looks like marker_, Wendy thought.

"Good-bye, Ms. Testaburger," Brendy said cheerfully.

"Bye, Wendy--- and thanks," Stan said sincerely.

Wendy told him it was no problem, waved at both, and was six steps outside the door when the adorable girl murmured in a lilting voice, "Bye, Ms. Teth-taburger."

"Bye-" Wendy had raised her palm to tell the little girl goodbye, but something occurred to her. She stopped in her tracks, now fifteen steps from the door. The family of three perched on the doorstep, the parents looking a bit confused at her halt. "I forgot to ask you," said Wendy. "What's your daughter's name?"

She had to nearly yell it before Stan heard her.

He looked pained again. "Kyle," he told her. "Kyle Marsh."

-

**Disclaimer: South Park and its characters belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker.**

**A/N: I wanted to write something different. Written in part of the afternoon and part of the early, early morning (1 A. M.). Everything made up on the spot. I know I missed out on some components I wanted to put into this one-shot, but I think it's all right. The pairings are complicated in this one. I'm going to say that it's one-sided Stan/Wendy, undertones (more like invisible under-under-undertones) of Stan/Kyle, and if you want to put Brendy in there, Stan/Brendy.**

**Review, please? Constructive criticism and/or praise appreciated.**


End file.
